


Tongue-Tied

by PCrabapple, SutaMasque



Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Attempted Kissing, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Foot Fetish, Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, Leashes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Roleplay Logs, Subspace, Tie Kink, dick stepping, or i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PCrabapple/pseuds/PCrabapple, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SutaMasque/pseuds/SutaMasque
Summary: During the casino heist, tensions between Gordon and Benrey run high. And then they shatter in a spectacular, messy fashion.ORGordon puts on a mask and unmasks his authoritative side.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 262





	Tongue-Tied

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay between PCrabapple as Benrey and I as Gordon!  
> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/sutamasquensfw/status/1300142850047463425) artwork by yours truly.
> 
> Don't send this to anybody who didn't request to see it! You know the drill!

There’s a lull in the gunshots and shouting. The cheerful jingles of slots and video poker machines are audible once again. Carrying on like it’s a normal day scamming people out of their hard-earned cash, and not the middle of the most radical heist of the century. 

Benrey had thought he’d been banished to a boring, shitty void for all eternity. It sucked and he was not a fan. But now he gets to hang out with all his friends and shoot approximately a million cops. Tommy mans the drill, giving updates on its ridiculously slow progress. Bubby and Coomer are setting up explosives to blow a hole in the ceiling for the airlift out. Gordon and Benrey are holding off the SWAT teams trying in vain to stop them from robbing the casino.

It’s extremely cool. 

Actually, it’s kind of warm. He’s sweating from the heat of the flamethrower he’d gotten his hands on. Benrey takes the opportunity of the brief and relative quiet to shed his jacket and mask, because as good as he makes them look, it’s getting a little hard to breathe. The gloves are slipping on his palms, but he leaves them on for now because apparently the fingerprint thing is important. 

Gordon’s still got his full outfit on, looking criminally good in the tuxedo and neon tiger mask. No wonder the cops are trying to kill him. Should put him in custody for violation of sexy physics.

Benrey wipes the sweat off his forehead with his forearm, watching Gordon reloading his gun. Blue-gloved hands pull and push, click ammo into place with practiced ease. A new wave of cops is starting to pour in. Gordon turns, spraying all that hard gun work directly into the faces of a new squad of idiots rushing in to die. Something explodes. Some dudes scream. Benrey observes Gordon’s black trousers pulled tight over his ass as he crouches down to take cover behind an overturned poker table. 

A bullet whizzes by, splintering the edge of the poker table a few centimeters from Gordon’s skull and dusting his hair with wood fragments. Oops. Right, Benrey should probably be providing cover. Wouldn’t want Gordon to yell at him again for spacing out. That would be ~terrible.~

Benrey checks his fuel and hops over the table, immolating the guy who dared threaten the life of his best friend and by extension his best friend’s good butt. Benrey cackles loudly as the fucker burns. He feels Extra Alive after being sort of dead for a little bit, and seeing so many bastards get merced. The rest of the squad falls back, a good self-preservation tactic, but it won’t work. Benrey charges ahead, keeping up the pressure and the heat. 

Being reckless is fun, but it’s also reckless. The sweat slicking up the inside of his gloves fucks with his grip on the flamethrower. The last SWAT guy of this particular squad escapes the plume of flame, which sputters out, fuel depleted. Hadn’t it just been full? How long has passed since he started this cool fire spree? Questions he doesn’t have time to answer because the fucker shoots him in the leg. 

“Haha oh nooo,” Benrey says over the brain-radio-thing, as he falls to the floor. He affects a seductive, casual pose as he switches to his pistol to finish off the asshole who shot him. “Yo, a lil’ help? Definitely dying here again. Haha.”

—

With how many people they’ve killed tonight, Gordon feels like they haven’t only wiped out the entire U.S. military, but are about to do the same to the entire U.S. police force as well. Why, neither of those is any good, so there’s no regret as he reloads and shoots a bunch of holes in some dudes’ heads. Freaking out over death has become redundant to him back in Black Mesa.

His movements are deft and practiced; he’s no longer worried about making a mess, only if of his tuxedo. He got it with his heist money and it was expensive, so he’s pretty adamant about not ruining it if he can help it. And he’s doing a pretty good job at that, if he can say so himself, with the help of Benrey who’s at his side, of course. It’s weird to see the man do anything at all lest he’s being antagonistic, honestly, but this is a welcome change. Benrey wields a flamethrower like it’s an extension of his body. Gordon watches the muscles of Benrey’s arms flex as he holds it higher, scorching people to death, and that’s a little hot, a small voice in Gordon’s mind admits, both literally and figuratively. Benrey must feel it too, because he’s shedding his jacket and mask, and Gordon pointedly looks away, not wanting to check him out any more than he already has. He can’t afford to get distracted at a time like this.

Gordon ducks down behind a poker table for cover and reloads again, flinching as a bullet flies past him, covering his hair with splinters.

And then Benrey is rushing after the cops unhinged and killing all of them. And getting himself shot as a bonus. Fuck.

As much as Gordon hates to admit it, Benrey has been a little bit more helpful than usual on this heist. Sure, he’s nearly burned him a few times out of pure spite or lack of care, but as much as he wants to leave him to die or get arrested, he can’t do that. The Science Team needs manpower like Benrey right now, so Gordon rushes to his side, dragging him out of the open and behind an overturned table.

“Shit, fuck…” he mutters quietly to himself, then louder, “What the _hell_ , Benrey? You were supposed to hold the cops off, not _rush_ after them! Oh god, what do I do about this…” 

Gordon is freaking out just a bit if he’s being honest. They have no medkits from Black Mesa (those are amazingly good at healing about anything and he should’ve brought some), he doesn’t even have basic gauze, and here’s Benrey bleeding out from a bullet hole in his leg. He rolls the pant leg up and peels the fabric of Benrey’s trousers off of his wound. He’s bleeding pretty badly, Gordon’s hands are red by the time he starts to assess the damage. He may be hyperventilating a little. He doesn’t know what to _do_. How does he take the bullet out, how does he stop the flow, how will Benrey walk after this? How is he going to take him back to the rest of the team and survive? 

Gordon has to pause to shoot some cops who dare to rush in. 

When he looks back down at the wound in blind hope to find the answers to all of his questions, it somehow seems less bloody. Must be his hyperactive imagination because as far as Gordon knows, wounds don’t heal that quickly. And yet, the scientist watches in rapture as the blood begins clotting, then drying. His mouth falls open a little when the bullet pokes out of the hole and falls onto the floor with an audible click, pushed out by the muscle and skin mending back together. Right. Of course. 

Benrey isn’t human to begin with. So why the fuck would human recovery stuff even apply to him? Gordon wants to slap himself for panicking and fussing over Benrey of all people. Should’ve left him there, should’ve known better. He wants to say so many things right now, but only one comes out.

“Oh god.” He mutters, “You’re okay.” 

Gordon lets out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding, almost reaches to wipe his sweaty face before realizing he’s wearing a mask. Intense relief washes over him suddenly, hitting him like a truck. He looks Benrey in the face. 

“Do you need a moment, bud?”

Because Gordon Freeman sure needs a moment.

—

"Can't be contained. Gotta uh… give me a leash if you want me to stay put," Benrey says, even though he knows it was stupid to run out in the open like that. He can't help it if he's having fun. He is a little surprised to see Gordon over here, actually, making a big deal over a temporary leg wound. Hadn't he seen Benrey get cut in half by a shitty door in Black Mesa? Hadn't he shot a few clips into his face himself? Idiot. His suit trousers are more damaged than he is. Too bad, he likes them.

Benrey could tell him he was just joking about dying, that he'll be ready for more barbecue in just a bit. But uhhhh seeing Gordon get all worried over him, touching his blood with almost bare hands? It's kinda nice. So he just lies there, propped up on one elbow, letting Gordon be an ineffectual mess. He admires Gordon's crouched form, the way the black jacket accentuates his shoulders. Benrey shoots a cop trying to sneak up on them. He appreciates the way Gordon's hair spills over the curve of his back. He wishes he wasn't wearing the mask. It's cool but Benrey wants to bask in whatever concerned expression he's got on his dumb face.

He grimaces a bit as his flesh and bone repairs itself. It's convenient but not always comfortable. He has to shoot another couple of officers as Gordon is seemingly hypnotized by totally run-of-the-mill rapid regeneration. Stupid. Gordon is the one whose bones don't grow back in a few seconds. But here he is risking his life for basically immortal Benrey.

Gordon finally realizes everything is fine, and Benrey blinks up into the stoic tiger mask. It hides Gordon's face, but can't conceal the obvious relief in his voice that he's not dead. 

"Never better," he says, picking up the bullet expelled from his leg and flicking it back at the dead guy it had come from.

"Do _you_ need a moment? G. Gordon Fretman?" he teases, then holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers. They should probably change gloves after this ordeal. The sweat in his gloves contributed to this situation in the first place, and the blood on Gordon's isn't going to help. "You still gotta help me up. That's the rules."

—

“Maybe I should. Have you on a leash that is.” Gordon says seriously, giving Benrey a stern look even if he can’t see it behind the mask, “That would do you better. Save me the trouble of having to go after you and drag you away before some idiot shot you in the face. Moron.” He doesn’t think much past that, mostly just inconvenienced by Benrey’s recklessness. And his own idiocy, in a sense. Truth is he wasn’t sure Benrey’s eldritch nonsense still worked after he had died back in Xen. But this is a confirmation that yes, it still does, and that means Gordon can leave him next time. Benrey would just come back like he always does if anything happened.

Well, maybe he doesn’t really have the time to leave Benrey to die mid-heist. They still need him, but that’s besides the point. Gordon just basks in the possibility for a second as he gathers his bearings again.

“Good. No, I’m alright.” He replies quickly, peeking at his surroundings from behind the table. There doesn’t seem to be any cops here right now, but that won’t be long until the reinforcements arrive. Gordon deems it as safe as can be, and after a moment of hesitation grabs Benrey’s hand, smearing the man’s own blood on his glove. He hoists him up with a bit of trouble and helps him stand.

Gordon puts some distance between the two of them immediately, checking how his ammo is doing. He might need to go scavenge soon as he’s not exactly doing stellar on that front, but it’s still alright. Luckily, all of these dead bodies have what he needs, so it wouldn’t be hard should a need arise. 

It’s weirdly quiet for a moment and Gordon realizes he’s completely alone with Benrey in a sea of corpses. It makes a feeling stir in him that he’s not ready to describe, and Gordon dares a look at the other man’s sweaty face. His gaze drags up his form involuntarily, stopping for just a moment on his arms before he finally settles where he intends to. 

“How’s your fuel?” Gordon blurts out, brain short-circuiting for a second. He mentally slaps himself. This isn’t a good time for gay shit. A new SWAT team could pour in any moment, and here he is, checking out a dude who had his arm cut off and nearly killed him multiple times on this heist alone. He can't help it that Benrey looks good in formal wear.

—

Benrey swallows as Gordon mentions dragging him away by a leash. It isn't that evocative of a description, but Benrey is still imagining it quite vividly. His tie feels suddenly tight, and he digs a finger under the band around his neck to loosen it a bit. "Yeah, you would like that. Bossy uh… bossy little science man," he mumbles, looking around on the ground like there might be something useful there. But it's just spent ammo casings, poker chips, and a few charred playing cards. 

He'd forgotten he's still holding his hand out and is a little startled when Gordon grabs it. That's part of why he doesn't fully help pull himself up at first, nearly pulling Gordon down on top of him instead. The other part is just to be a jerk because it's funny. He does stand up in the end, hauling the heavy flamethrower up as well. He checks the fuel. Weird. It didn't magically refill itself while he was fucking around on the floor. 

"Um. Not good," Benrey says, then elaborates. "Bad. Empty." He glances at Gordon, who is suddenly kind of far away. Wasn't he just going on about them sticking together? Who really needs a leash here? Should probably stop thinking about the leash. In the eerie, awkward quiet, undercut by the still-functioning melodies of the slot machines, Benrey is about to ask something so, so stupid. Like, did Gordon really mean it about the leash? Because he could if he wanted to. They could probably find something like one. Benrey even opens his mouth-

" _Hey, are you guys doin' okay? Kinda quiet down there,_ " Darnold's voice cuts in over the brainlink. Right. They are in the middle of kind of a Situation here.

"Yeah, we're fine. Cops uhhh... gave up I guess? We're too pro. Freeman was fucking up for a while but I think he's done now," Benrey says, grinning at Gordon even as he insults and pretty much blatantly lies about his performance. True, he hadn't needed to go all hero mode and rescue Benrey, but he hadn't gotten either of them permanently or even temporarily killed, and he's probably doing a pretty good job as far as violent casino heists go. 

The rest of the team checks in from elsewhere in the building. Bubby and Coomer have successfully blown a hole in the ceiling. The drill has stalled and Tommy is working on getting it up and running again. Coomer is heading over to help and Bubby is keeping watch on their ceiling escape route. Darnold informs them that they managed to completely exhaust the local SWAT response force. 

"Niiice," Benrey says, nudging Gordon in the ribs. Darnold continues, letting them know that through his surveillance, he's learned that federal law enforcement is getting involved. A huge force of fuckers is inbound, enough that 4 scientists and a security guard shouldn't stand a chance, ETA 45 minutes. The drill will be done in 30 at most, but they'll still have to empty the vault. There's no way they'll get out without meeting the feds.

"Sounds serious," Benrey comments, raising an eyebrow at Gordon. He's not too concerned, they've dealt with worse, probably. He just needs to find more fuel or switch to a more practical weapon (not a chance). But he’s noticed Gordon sometimes gets freaked out about this kind of thing.

—

“Shut up,” Gordon says simply, refusing to dwell on the whole leash thing anymore only if for his own sanity. Because Benrey isn’t wrong, and he just had to go and make it weird too, make Gordon wonder if he _would_ like that, and have him stop and look at the man adjusting his tie. 

His. Tie.

Gordon looks away and once again tries to banish the idea. It’s not that he likes Benrey, quite the opposite actually. There’s something sadistic about the concept of having him on a leash, or by his tie, tugging hard enough to choke him, make him obedient, quiet for once. Of course, the mental imagery just doesn’t go away. Gordon gives up and mulls it over real nice until it’s a permanent fixture in the back of his mind.

With a sigh, Gordon moves towards the corpses to check their ammo. There’s a bit he could take for himself, but it won’t fix Benrey’s problem. Fucking idiot had to go, get himself shot, and waste all of his fuel. Where is he going to find any in a casino?!

“You could probably take one of the guns these guys carry. They’re all the same.” Gordon mutters, kicking a pistol out of a cop’s hand, “With a bit of luck you’ll find a few magazines. Not gonna be as ‘cool’ as a flamethrower, but efficient enough to maybe keep us alive until the drill is done.”

Then Darnold chimes in and Gordon near glares at Benrey as he dirties his good name, because _who fucked up_ here, huh? Sure, the fucker is technically immortal, but it doesn’t negate temporary deaths and needless stalling. Ugh. He picks up an unused pistol and approaches Benrey, shoving the gun into his hands. He’s seen him use one before, they’ll be alright. Two guns are cooler than one, anyway, even if they aren’t as cool as a flamethrower.

As Darnold continues speaking, however, the ‘alright’ turns into “shit”. The brief moment of pride changes to complete horror. Gordon wheezes as panic washes over him. Oh god. He’s going to _die_. He’s the only person in this team of absolute lunatics who can, permanently, and having survived the Resonance Cascade as far as he knows hasn’t given him any special powers to make him immune to being shot in multiple places by multiple people.

Benrey is right, Gordon absolutely fucking freaks out. He tries not to show it, but his body language makes it obvious enough as he goes to frantically check over the bodies he’s already checked before as if more supplies would just appear there if he knew he was in danger.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” Gordon mutters to himself on repeat as he stands back up and starts pacing. It’s even worse that he’ll have to wait thirty fucking minutes here with Benrey before he can do something about the impending mess they’ve got themselves in. The scientist stops, looks at the guard.

The gnarly thought of a leash worms itself back from the depths of his panicked mind as a pathetic attempt at distraction. His voice almost doesn’t betray him.

“I guess— guess this is a good time to go find you some fuel. Or more ammo. Or _something_ that will make us not die once the feds arrive.” Gordon says tensely, “Unless you have something better in mind.” Which Benrey certainly doesn’t, “Let’s go.”

—

Benrey tenses as Gordon approaches, convinced that he's somehow read his mind, heard the question he'd only been thinking about asking. He doesn't know what he's going to do about it, just that he's here and totally knows what weird leash shit is going on in Benrey’s weird brain. But Gordon just hands him a gun. Of course. Benrey tamps down his disappointment and apprehension. Because they really do have other things to worry about. His highly gay fantasies should be the absolute bottom priority. 

"Boring," he whines, checking the half-empty clip anyway and casting around for more ammo. He loots a few pouches from nearby bodies until it becomes impossible to miss how disturbed Gordon is by their new timeline. Fucked up little anxiety machine, going over the motions, again and again, getting nowhere. Benrey wonders what the problem is. They have plenty of time to prepare. There are lots of extra guns. Benrey's pretty sure he can find something to dump into the flamethrower, maybe in the kitchen. 

He watches Gordon for a bit, his muscles taught under just a few layers of fabric, and it dawns on him. Of course, Gordon can't read his thoughts or do other cool things like quickly heal wounds because he's a normal human. It's easy for Benrey to forget sometimes, to assume everyone is just as resilient as he is. Poor guy can't even respawn as far as he knows. What a big sucks that must be for him.

"Go where?" Benrey asks, stubbornly not moving, feet planted firmly. Gordon is right, they do need to find something soon. But Benrey can't help being an asshole sometimes. And giving Gordon something else to focus on aside from his nervousness seems to help in these sorts of situations. Usually, it's anger at Benrey. Benrey has other ideas for distraction (lots of them in fact), but he'll go for the tried and true method for now. 

"What's your problem? Why you freaking out? You miss the Hev suit doing everything for you? Squishy lil' baby needs his shield?" He pokes a finger at Gordon’s chest. It isn't really squishy per se, but it's definitely a lot softer than the breastplate of the HEV suit. The armor had looked good on Gordon, but now, in addition to looking great in a suit, his body is a lot more...accessible. Benrey wants to put his fingers all over the other man, figure out just how soft and squishy he is. 

Instead, he busies his hands with finally changing his gloves, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs. He resolves not to move until he gets a rise out of Gordon and diverts his anxiety.

—

Gordon is already anxious and on edge, so Benrey acting dumb, _on purpose_ he thinks, absolutely doesn’t help. He stares daggers at the other man until he realizes that Benrey can’t see his eyes anyway. He’s also instantly reminded that his face is sweaty, hot, and gross under his mask, but taking it off right now and risking getting caught on camera sounds like a spectacularly shitty idea. That somehow contributes to his overall discomfort.

“I’m…” Gordon starts and stops immediately as Benrey pokes him. Newfound anger boils in his chest; his throat tightens as the other goads, seemingly oblivious to his fragile human life. Gordon will die and Benrey won’t even care, would probably find it funny like he had when killing all those guards and scientists, like he had when Gordon got his arm cut off. His hands ball into fists, phantom pain shooting up his right wrist from the memory.

“Yes!” Gordon almost shrieks, “Yes I do! Because I _can_ and _will_ die here if you don’t quit acting like a dick!” He stomps, not finding a better way to let his anger out that isn’t punching Benrey square in the face, “I’m human! I don’t have enchantments! I can’t die and come back to life! I’m… I’m just normal! And I don’t even have the HEV suit to protect me from being shot anymore! Do you understand?! Do you even **_care_**?!”

So Benrey’s plan doesn’t work. It makes the situation even worse, in fact. Because now Gordon isn’t just worried he might die, he’s certain that he will and that Benrey will laugh at his corpse like a moron and not take it seriously. That’s if they don’t move soon, if they don’t get ready for the new wave and their grand escape.

Gordon’s eyes zero-in on Benrey’s collar. He knows what he has to do to shut the man up and make him do as he says. He grabs at Benrey’s tie and tugs. “We’re going to go,” he says, tone icy, twisting his wrist so the fabric would loop around his fist, and jerks harder, “wherever these fucks keep their supplies. And we will find gasoline or whatever you need to refuel your flamethrower so that you’re useful to me _for once_. Understand?”

Gordon takes off, Benrey’s tie still wrapped around his hand. He drags him hard, uncaring if it would choke him. Benrey, unlike him, will just come back, respawn as he says. Gordon pointedly ignores the half-chub the action seems to have given him. He hates how having power over somebody, especially somebody stubborn like Benrey, makes blood rush straight to his dick. He’s always been a control freak. He blames it on the fear though, not wanting to admit to finding the situation kind of hot. It’s not like he’d been entertaining the idea of doing just that this entire time, no sir!

He’s not sure where he’s going other than they’re in the area where the personnel is supposed to work. Gordon stops as they pass the kitchen and drags Benrey in, shutting the door behind them and finally letting go of the man’s tie. He looks around quickly in search of something useful. Sinks, food, gas stoves. He thinks about the latter for a second before the image of the whole place with the science team and their money included blowing up flashes in his mind. Gordon disregards that one. Can’t use gas directly from the pipes if they don’t want to die.

“Look around. Maybe you can find something valuable.” Gordon says, sounding more exhausted than he has any right to be. He spots a few cameras in the corners and shoots them before taking off his mask and walking over to one of the sinks to wash his face and gloves. His trousers are still a little tight, though he ignores himself in favor of getting a goddamn break. He somehow feels better in a smaller enclosed space like that.

—

Benrey is no stranger to Gordon yelling at him. He invites it, after all. A significant part of him likes it, likes eating up all of Gordon's attention, whatever form it comes in. He stands there, a blasé grin on his face as Gordon airs his very real concerns. 

He's about to tell Gordon to chill out, that is not a big deal. Benrey will be his meat shield if he can't handle a few tiny bullets. But suddenly his throat is constricted, he's being pulled forwards. He can hardly breathe, let alone speak. It's more from surprise than actual strangulation, the subject of his fantasies suddenly manifest. He'd been thinking about a leash this whole time, not even realizing he was basically already wearing one. That he wore one practically every day. 

Gordon gets what he wants, gets Benrey to shut up and move. Benrey follows so easily, borne mostly by shock at the turn of events. But also the irresistible urge to follow, to obey. How different things might have gone in Black Mesa if Gordon had discovered this one weird trick that security guards ~~hate~~ love.

As they near the kitchen Benrey starts to resist a bit, to pull back against the hold Gordon has on his tie. He wants to goad him, coax Gordon to pull harder, hold tighter, turn around and look at him while he does it, take off the mask so Benrey can see whatever expression he's making; pissed off? smug? turned on? Still, not knowing is kind of cool too, just that blank plastic animal face giving no mercy, no clue what's going on beneath.

And then it's over. He's released in the middle of the kitchen, taking his first full breathe in a minute or two, feeling totally unmoored. "Fuck, bro…" he rasps, at once relieved to breathe again and sorely missing the tightness, the control Gordon had over him. Benrey nods dumbly as Gordon orders him to look for stuff. He does it, but without much care, mind still reeling, dick more than half hard. 

He's been staring at a shelf full of propane torches used to light fancy food stuff on fire for a few moments before realizing he could probably use them. Jam them into the fuel port of the flamethrower and make do. He's distracted by Gordon still moving around nervously, taking off his mask and putting his head in the sink. Apparently Benrey’s taunting hadn't helped calm him down all that much, though it had definitely gotten him some kind of power trip outlet. Benrey ambles over to lean on the counter next to the sink, always willing to help/make things worse. 

"Bet you miss it jacking you off, too," Benrey mutters as if there hadn't been a huge, airway-constricting break in their conversation. Gordon had mentioned that back in Black Mesa, though Benrey wasn't sure if he’d been joking about the functions of the HEV suit. That shit probably chilled him out a lot. Benrey doesn't know anymore if he's just trying to piss Gordon off or offer a real suggestion, letting his turned-on brain throw out what it will.

—

The power trip hauling Benrey around has given him is delicious. Gordon thinks about how he’s been so quiet the entire time as he splashes water on his hot face, cooling off a little. It serves to distract him better than the goading, making him feel on top of at least one of the situations they’re currently in. And Gordon loves it. He watches Benrey out of the corner of his eye, actually doing what he’d been told. Nice. Should’ve thought of this earlier, hadn’t taken him for a submissive type.

But then the guard makes his way over to him, and Gordon’s mood sours a little even if for just a moment. He stops the water and straightens. The little jab is amusing somehow, and he suddenly knows what exactly to do with it.

"What are you, jealous?" Gordon smirks not looking at Benrey as he wipes his face off with a paper towel. He feels so much better already. "Don't think I've forgotten how you were practically begging to choke on my dick the entire time back in Black Mesa. Don't think I didn't _notice_."

He throws the ruined towel away and reaches to put his glasses back on, finally taking a moment to appraise the man in front of him. The little (but not exactly small) problem Benrey has doesn’t escape his attention, but he chooses to pretend he didn’t notice.

“So much for a dick slip, dude, really? And what was that about my feet?” Gordon doesn’t turn bodily to Benrey, instead choosing to lean a little on the sink. He doesn’t need the guard to see the interest his own dick has taken in this conversation, “Makes one think _you_ miss something, too.”

And then, like a switch has been flipped in Gordon’s mind, his expression steels, “Have you found anything we could use?”

He totally isn’t using Benrey’s own tactics against him right now.

—

Benrey doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. Gordon getting flustered, denial, more general anger, maybe. He certainly hadn’t expected him to cut right down to the quick, slicing Benrey to the core. His face heats up, and he wonders where the fuck his mask went, missing it dearly. 

Jealous? Of being locked around Gordon’s gross sweaty body, having to keep him alive, soothe his pain, get him off whenever his stress levels were deemed too high? Fucking. Maybe.

Half of Benrey wants to sink through the floor, hating how _seen_ Gordon has him feeling, stripped bare. The other half still still wants to sink down, but only onto his knees, to show Gordon how absolutely correct he is. How his double-layered jokes all held a substantial grain of truth. Benrey thought Gordon would be too uptight or oblivious to figure it out, but apparently he’d underestimated him.

Once again he’s been rendered speechless. The tension is reaching a boiling point, and he still doesn’t know where it’s going. He licks his lips, eyes darting around guiltily. He’s about to step forward, but Gordon gives him an out, back to business. It’s a relief, and yet a disappointment. It felt like something had been about to give, a breakthrough for better or worse. Probably worse, in all honesty.

Benrey turns away, glad for an excuse to hide his flushed face, the persistent tenting of his trousers. He’ll answer Gordon’s question. But first...

“Like you’d do anything about it anyway...chicken,” he mumbles, only able to say it once he’s facing elsewhere. Chicken is the special tonight in this kitchen. He also switches, as much as he can, and gestures over to the shelf full of propane canisters. “I can use those uh...fire bottles. Plug ‘em in the flamethrower. Flambé some shit.” He also has his eyes on some of the carving knives. Could be useful for close combat, which the flamethrower is not great for.

—

There it is. Every embarrassing word is worth the outcome when Benrey’s face suddenly colors, body going stiff, and he stays silent. Just like that, just like he should have all along. Gordon nearly purrs at the surge of excitement that reaction gives him. He realizes he should let it go, though.

“Take as many as you can, then. A knife too if you think that’d serve you. But before you do that…”

Gordon walks back to a kitchen island where he had left his mask and takes it in his hands. He gives Benrey an intense look, and approaches him slowly, hating how he has to look up once he’s close enough.

He realizes he should let it go, but can’t do so without doing one more tiny thing. He would hate for Benrey to get the final word.

“You have it backwards.” Gordon stops in front of the guard, mask in one hand, the other winding around his tie again and tugging the man down to his level, “I won’t do anything about it.” He says sternly, looking Benrey in the eye, “Unless _you_ can prove you’re worth my while.”

Gordon lets go and puts his mask back on, perhaps a tad too quick. He screams silently to himself once his face is hidden. The nerve! He had no idea he had the nerve to say such a thing! But then again, this exchange was nothing short of exhilarating. There’s a tension in the air he didn’t know he’d welcome with Benrey, and his thoughts are currently nowhere near their predicament with the feds. He’s looking at him a bit differently now, knowing that under the layers of shitty and annoying behavior, of getting under his skin all the time, is a simple brat – a man begging to be put in his place. It’s only that Gordon isn’t completely sure he’s up to the task. He’s not sure he has what it takes. The nerve, for one, the patience for the other. But he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t like the idea or the feeling of power it gives him. He really is a control freak.

—

Benrey is reluctantly ready to put this behind them. Figuring that Gordon will leave it at that. Benrey got the last cowardly dig in and they’ll go back to murdering, heisting, bickering. Same as always, and that’s fine. Benrey’s been doing it for ages. Just an extra bit of tension to make things interesting.

He’s about to go grab the tanks but turns back to see what other menial shit Gordon wants. He can sense the intensity in Gordon’s eyes. He pays a little more attention than he would normally. He pays even more attention when Gordon grabs hold of his tie.

Just like that he’s breathless again. Fuck, Gordon clearly has some idea of what this does to him. He has to fight the rushing of blood in his ears (and into his cock) to listen to Gordon speak. He blinks, still at a loss for words, trying to process Gordon’s...proposal? That’s what it is, isn’t it? He’s telling Benrey to take initiative. To take control and do something about his shitty crush. 

He steels himself, setting his jaw as Gordon lets him go. He doesn’t stand back up, staying stooped where Gordon put him. But he moves forward, hunched like a predator. He puts his hands on Gordon’s hips, guiding him until he’s backed up against the kitchen island. Benrey looks into that tiger mask, not sure if he wishes he could see his face or not. It makes it easier to do this, in a way.

He licks his lips again and lowers himself slowly onto his knees. Benrey nuzzles his face against Gordon’s crotch, reveling in the hardness he finds there. “Is this worthwhile to you?” he asks, looking up at Gordon. His hands feel around the various layers of vest and shirt and pants, honestly not sure what to do with them. He'd gone with a simpler suit himself. He wants to just rip the fabric apart and go to town.

—

And Gordon would call it done, too. He doesn’t really expect anything else from Benrey right now, thinks he won’t take the bait in the middle of a heist where every minute could cost them their lives. Benrey however, does just that. He takes the bait, gulps it down, and impales his throat on the hook.

Gordon can’t exactly keep his expression straight as he’s backed into the kitchen island, suddenly very glad he’s put the mask on. Because here’s Benrey hunching over him, hands on his hips, as he’s trapped between the man’s body and the false marble of the island. Gordon holds his breath, holds Benrey’s gaze as the guard slowly lowers himself down on his knees in front of him. He’s lost for a moment, not sure how to process this. Then the guard presses his face against his clothed dick.

Gordon’s cock jumps in his trousers and he lets out the breath he’s been holding this whole time. Oh god. This is actually happening. It’s happening and he has no problem with that at all. He actually likes seeing Benrey on his knees in front of him. _Right where he belongs_ , his brain supplies. He grounds himself for a moment, summons that aura of control again.

“It might be, depends on whether or not you do it well.” Gordon chuckles, surprised at the sound of his own voice. It’s low, kind of hoarse from arousal. He might be leaking a little bit under the fabric, “But there’s something we have to do first…”

Gordon fists his hand into Benrey’s hair, tugging his head roughly away from the tent in his trousers. 

“Hey Tommy, bud, how much time’s left until the drill is done?” Gordon speaks out loud, knowing Tommy would hear him through the radio intercom– the parasite– if addressed. 

_“Around… Around 20 more minutes, Mr. Freeman!_ ” He hears the reply in his own brain, “ _Are you and Benrey okay?_ ” Gordon nods like an idiot, staring down at the man at his feet before realizing Tommy can’t see him. He’s kind of relieved that’s the case.

“Yes… We’re good. Found some ammo, some fuel. Gonna see if there’s anything else of use to us here,” Gordon smirks, and uses the same hand that’s gripping Benrey by the hair to press his face back into his crotch, “If we’re not back by the time you’re done, give me a sign.” 

After he hears a confirmation, Gordon brings his full attention back to Benrey, sure that nothing of theirs will be overheard. He doesn’t say much, just releases the rough hold on him and slides his hands down to his face, fingers prying his jaw open. Gordon slips a thumb into his mouth, feeling the sharp points of his teeth. Big red danger signs flash in his head.

“Why should I indulge you?” He asks instead, “When you have been nothing but a nuisance since the first moment we met?"

—

Benrey’s brain buzzes with the pleasure of being this close to Gordon, feeling the heat pouring off of him, so little between his lips and Gordon’s cock. Just a few infuriating layers separate them. He’s still figuring that out, moving his fingers along the edge of the cummerbund, around Gordon’s waist to the small of his back. He can’t help but move a hand down to cup his ass as the other fiddles with the clasp securing the satin fabric. His impatience has him pressing his tongue to the shape of Gordon’s cockhead through the material. Yes, Benrey wants to do well. Just give him a chance.

He gasps as Gordon grips his hair, tongue still lolling out as he’s pulled away. He wants to continue, slob all over that dick, make Gordon’s voice hitch and break as he tries to keep it together. But Benrey is trying to behave. Doesn’t want his privileges, tentative as they are, revoked so soon. So he closes his eyes, relishes the tension against his scalp, and continues working on the stupid fucking big wide fabric belt thing.

He’s not listening to the conversation coming through his own brain relay, tuning it out in favor of finding the hooks of the cummerbund. What heist? It’s Gordon time now. He feels the fastening separate and gives a small cackle of triumph. He does not dump it on the floor or tear it in half for giving him so much trouble. Instead, he drapes it over one shoulder for safekeeping. Just have to try not to get any cum or drool on it. Next are the suspenders. But Gordon is talking to him, and his attention snaps back up, a little startled to see the tiger mask again. Forgot about that.

“Yuh abouh tuh induhl me anuhwah,” he says around Gordon’s thumb wishing it wasn’t covered in the flavorless blue nitrile, even though the gloves are pretty sexy. He’s careful not to bite, well aware of the danger his teeth present, and the trust needed to let him put vulnerable parts between them. He does press a tooth against the pad of Gordon’s thumb, digging in but not breaking the skin or even the protective material. See? He can be a gentle goodboy. He follows it with his tongue, slathering over tiny indent he’d left, hoping to entice the other man with the possibilities. He closes his lips around the base of his thumb, tight, and pulls off slowly with a pop.

“You rather go out there like this?” He palms Gordon’s hard-on, “Or jack off by yourself like a lonely nerd? In the kitchen? Where all the food is? Nasty. Promise I’ll be better than that. Better than the Hev suit probably too.” He’s aware that he’s not making a lot of sense. And that he’s still being an asshole. Gordon honestly doesn’t have much reason to give him a chance. Benrey can only hope he’s turned Gordon on enough to overlook that. He pulls one of the suspender clips off with a snap, then the other. God, how could the HEV suit be easier to get a dick in and out of than this?

—

Gordon lets his gloved hand explore Benrey’s mouth for a bit. He feels his teeth with his thumb, presses his middle and index against his tongue, peels his lip back, and runs the digits against his gums until he’s satisfied. The blue nitrile gloves somehow make the action look even more obscene than it would be were his hands bare. And then Benrey mutters something with his mouth full and presses down.

Gordon's breath _does_ hitch. Benrey’s teeth are sharp, but he’s careful with them, trying so hard to show Gordon that he can trust him. And Gordon… Gordon has sensitive hands. Even though the glove, he feels a lot. He shivers at the sensation of Benrey’s tongue flicking against his thumb, his mouth sucking it in before he pulls off obscenely and stares at him in a manner that can only be described as ‘craving’ while absolutely awful things pour out of his mouth. Gordon represses a laugh.

“Keep talking like that and this will be the only time you get to do it,” he murmurs, taking his cummerbund off of Benrey’s shoulder and putting it on top of the kitchen island, all the while Benrey strokes him through the fabric. He’s being a little shit again, but it won’t matter once Gordon’s cock is down his throat. And no matter how much Gordon hates to admit it, he does make sense, even if just a little. Would be a shame for Gordon to have come so far only to deny him. Them both, pretty much.

Gordon bites his lip under the mask and undoes the button of his trousers, pulling the zipper down and pushing the fabric slightly below his hips as Benrey rids him of his suspenders. He doesn’t take himself out of his underwear, wanting to watch Benrey do it. It's wild, he's about to get his dick sucked by the man who lusted so hard for him he tried to kill him. Now that he puts it in this perspective though, indulging Benrey should be the last thing on his to-do list ever forever, but he's already got this far and Gordon has never been a good wise life-choice man.

He takes a second to appraise Benrey again, now that they’re about to do this, really drink his appearance in. And he likes what he sees, likes watching the guard reduced to a mess at his feet, pupils blown wide, hair disheveled, practically begging to put his mouth on his cock. He feels a surge of arousal rush through him, making a small dark spot appear on the otherwise white fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Be good for me,” Gordon breathes, smoothing his hand through Benrey’s messy locks, “And _maybe_ I’ll indulge you more…”

—

Benrey swallows, nods. They’re both lucky his mouth is about to be occupied. And it _is_ about to be occupied. Gordon is actually going to let him do this. Benrey takes a moment to knead at his own erection through his trousers. He’s so, so hard. But it can wait. Benrey is much more likely to be the one going out there with a raging erection, what with the time constraints.

Benrey’s heart is pounding as Gordon undoes his pants, watching his gloved hands make short work of the zipper and button. _Oh, so you get to do the easy part?_ He thinks but doesn’t say because he’s trying to be good. It’s difficult, but Gordon’s demeanor, the way he’s softly demanding, makes it easier. Gordon can tamp down his urge to infuriate, nurture his urge to please. 

He stops touching himself, stops touching anything but Gordon. Stops thinking about anything but Gordon. His mouth is practically watering as he pulls down the underwear to set his cock free. _Hello_. he thinks but does not say, because he doesn’t want this to be the only time. _We meat again._

“Wh-how else would you uhh...indulge me?” he asks, absolutely loving the hand combing through his hair. He doesn’t expect Gordon to answer him, and he knows he doesn't deserve an answer, but he’s incredibly curious. Gordon is honestly indulging him now more than he could have ever realistically hoped for. Benrey leans in to slather his tongue along the length of Gordon’s cock, tasting the musk, sweat, flesh, and other human flavors. His own dick throbs in his pants. Fuck. He might not actually need much in the way of physical stimulation to get off himself. 

Once Gordon is sufficiently slick, Benrey wraps his own gloved hand around him, slowly stroking up and down, really appreciating the girth and length and stiffness. He knows they need to be quick, but he can’t help but take his time, show Gordon how useful he can be. With a low growl of annoyance, he takes his hand away and pulls at the wrist of his glove with his teeth, stripping it off and practically shredding it in the process.

Then he’s back to work, wallowing in the sensation of his bare hand on Gordon’s hot, pulsing dick. He looks up at Gordon as he puts the tip in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the crown and circling his tongue over it. He’s so, so careful, hyper-aware of where his teeth are, keeping them in check. He shifts his knees on the floor, trapping himself between his thighs and rubbing almost unconsciously.

—

Gordon’s brain is melting as he watches Benrey tug his underwear down. His cock springs free, hard and wet at the tip. He’s once again glad for the mask because Benrey can’t see how utterly disarmed he is, how much he wants this as well. As long as his mask is on, Gordon can pretend he’s allowing Benrey to do this. And he is, of course, his head is just slightly less cool than he’d like it to be. His thoughts are swimming, want and insecurity battling for dominance in the back of his mind.

Gordon watches Benrey trace his tongue up his length tentatively, eyes glued to his face and mouth. The mouth Benrey usually uses to annoy him, now occupied with thoroughly laving his dick with attention neither of them probably deserves. Gordon sighs. It’s been long, _way_ too long. He gasps softly when Benrey’s hand wraps around his cock, finds himself liking the view of the blue glove around it. He can’t place exactly why, but there’s something slightly detached and impersonal in the thin barrier it provides.

He quickly reconsiders as the guard rips that glove straight off with his teeth. The warmth of his bare hand is so much better, the view he’s given him making Gordon’s dick throb in the man’s hand. He holds his breath as Benrey leans in, lips pressing to the head, and lets it out in a shallow gasp when he’s finally in, Benrey’s tongue sliding around the tip. Gordon’s hand moves to the back of the guard’s head in what he hopes is an encouraging gesture. He looks straight down at him, watching his every movement, wanting to see every little shift of Benrey’s expression while simultaneously not gracing him with the slightest possibility of having the same, his mask the real barrier between the two of them.

Benrey’s legs close as Gordon watches his hips shift in an awkward attempt to give his dick some friction. He can see how hard it is, one of Berney’s biggest fantasies probably coming true right before his eyes and into his mouth.

Gordon ponders Benrey’s question for a moment and chuckles. No, he won’t grace him with a verbal answer. Instead, he moves his foot and gently kicks Benrey's thighs open from their newly closed position. The tip of his dress shoe lightly traces a line up the guard's clothed erection before he presses the entire sole against it. His breath hitches as he pushes down, really gets to feel the hard line of him. In contrast, the hand in Benrey’s hair ruffles the locks gently, rubbing soothing circles against his scalp. Then, in a moment, it's gone. Gordon puts his hands on the edges of the kitchen island to ground himself and lets Benrey do his thing, eyes never leaving his face, foot still pressing between his thighs.

—

The mask has Benrey feeling like he’s being watched through a two-way mirror, observed coldly through an inscrutable wall. He won’t get a reaction, but everything he’s done is noted, recorded, filed away on his permanent record. It’s not a perfect metaphor. He can feel Gordon on his hand, his lips and tongue, the quiver and pulse of his flesh as he works. He can hear Gordon’s breathing, and Benrey strains his ears past his own obscene slurping, wanting to catch every little gasp and huff, any feedback he can use to do better.

And the hands in his hair, shifting from pulling to urging to soothing, it’s a real fucking treat. Benrey moves with the encouragement, inching his lips down Gordon’s shaft, tongue busy. Gordon’s laugh muffled by the mask sends an ominous thrill down his spine. He obediently spreads his knees apart at Gordon’s non-verbal direction. He figures he just wants a little more control, to make Benrey suffer in absolute, delicious agony with no contact to his own arousal. 

He has to open his mouth and pull back in surprise to keep from biting down in a hiss when Gordon places the bottom of his shoe on his erection. Oh, fuck. “Oh-... fuck,” he says, glancing down at that lovely black shoe rubbing against his cock. But he can’t get too distracted. He’s supposed to be proving his worth to Gordon after all, not the other way around. He looks back up at Gordon, tries to convey his sincerest gratitude with a rather goofy grin, and kisses Gordon’s tip before opening up and going back down.

His tongue presses up against the ridge on the underside of Gordon’s cock as he slides his head down it, taking it in deeper than before, bobbing his head in earnest now. The focus required for keeping his teeth out of the equation is good, it helps him keep from fixating on Gordon’s foot, avoid cummming in his pants from just a little bit of dick-stepping. He’s probably going to get off on it anyway, but he wants to enjoy it for a little longer. 

Benrey grinds up against the sole of Gordon’s shoe, tentatively canting his hips to get more friction, more asking permission than anything else. He offers more in return, cupping his hand under Gordon’s balls and rubbing his thumb over them, squeezing with gentle care.

He misses the hands in his hair, but as he looks up at Gordon, detached, leaning back, relaxed almost, doing the bare minimum of reciprocation with his foot... Benrey feels he’d do anything for him, go through anything for him. He may have it bad for him.

—

Gordon doesn’t want to admit it out loud, but Benrey is doing well. He’s doing great, in fact, and Gordon finds it hard to keep his cool. The inside of his mask is getting hot and kind of stuffy from all the hard breathing he’s been doing, and traitorous thoughts of removing it start flooding his mind.

He watches Benrey move, cheeks hollowing obscenely each time he comes up, tongue laving over him as he goes back down. Something is hypnotizing about it – watching him work so hard to make Gordon feel good, to prove his worth, to keep doing this in the future.

Does Gordon want him to keep doing it? Does he want to find out how far Benrey can take it? How far _he_ can take it? Not this time, of course, there’s only so much two can do in twenty minutes or less, but on a later date perhaps, when there’s no danger looming over their heads?

Then Benrey is looking at him with the most disarming adoration he’s ever seen on his face and kisses the tip of his cock, and Gordon finds himself thinking that yes, he does want to find out, for better or for worse.

And when Benrey gets to _business_ and all air is punched out of Gordon’s lungs, he groans, for real. He presses his foot down harder, letting the guard rut against his shoe, too distracted with the heat of his mouth and the suction to care about teasing him right now. There’s a familiar tension all of a sudden, it’s not unwelcome, but…

Gordon’s hands carefully find Benrey’s face, coming to rest on his hot cheeks. He rubs his cheekbones with his thumbs in a moment of appreciation and pushes Benrey gently off his cock, his foot also leaving the other man’s nethers alone. He doesn’t want to come so soon, not only would that be embarrassing and too flattering for Benrey, but he also wants to drag the whole thing for a little longer, really have this image burned behind his eyelids.

“Do you actually like feet or were you saying that just to fuck with me?” Gordon asks, sounding breathless. The gears are turning in his mind about how to get Benrey off when he’s done. He loves the mental imagery of stepping on him with his shoe until he comes and ruins his pants, feels his dick twitch at it, but understands that a cum stain on the front of Benrey’s pants and in front of the whole Science Team would be incriminating, they can’t have that. An erection would be just as bad but also plain uncomfortable (Gordon catches himself caring, files that confusing feeling away for later) to escape with, and while Gordon might be an asshole, he’s not such an asshole to leave a dude hanging after such a good blowjob. A blowjob that’s still in progress, he reminds himself, they’re just taking a teeny tiny break to let Gordon get himself back together. He’ll let Benrey’s face go as soon as he gets his answer.

Gordon wants to reward him if he ends up doing as well as he started. He’s so far gone in his arousal that he thinks it’d be alright if they were a little late. He’ll personally shoot every fucker trying to come in with one of his hands on Benrey’s cock if he has to. Or a foot on his cock, both of his feet, though he doesn’t think they have time for much of _that_. Or his mouth. The thought of getting caught sucking Benrey off makes a hot bolt of both shame and need rush down Gordon’s body. He swallows, throat bobbing visibly, and files that one away too. A bit of foot stuff sounds good if they have a moment, as a treat. Then he’ll probably get him off with his hand unless Benrey asks for something else really nice.

—

That groan does things for Benrey. He wants more sounds like that. Wants to pull every sound of pleasure out of him, record them all, categorize them, play them on loop while he jacks off every night.

He whines a little as Gordon pushes him back and takes the shoe away from his dick. The touch on his cheeks is gentle, warm, and reassuring, but he still looks up at Gordon with an air of pleading insecurity. Is he not doing well? Did he fuck it up? What can he do to make up for it? The actual reason for the pause catches him off guard.

“I mean…” He clears his throat, voice rough from all the activity, “I was fuckin’ with you, yeah,” he says, licking his swollen, reddened lips. “But also... uhhh… ff-feet are nice. Cool.” Benrey tries not to say anything stupid. Like that Gordon’s feet are extra cool and nice probably. He’d have to check to be sure, though. Do a real thorough examination. “...Good,” he finishes lamely, his cheeks flushing again as he looks away. As much as he can when Gordon still has his hands on his head.

Benrey assumes Gordon is asking in order to taunt him, make fun of him for having a weird kink. Sure, he joked about it openly in the past, but giving a pretty genuine admission that it’s A Thing for him is different. Another layer stripped from him, exposing his raw nerves. He’ll take it, take anything Gordon sees fit to dish out to him. He feels somewhat outside of himself. Warm and floaty, willing to go wherever Gordon directs him.

He shifts impatiently, wanting to get back to it. He doesn’t want to leave the job unfinished. But he’s trying to be good, do whatever Gordon wants. So he waits, sitting there, cock throbbing with the want of the lost contact, mouth open and panting, catching his breath but also yearning to get it around Gordon again. To wring more of those noises from him, make him shudder and twitch under Benrey’s attention.

“Can I...hhh...please?” he asks, well aware that he is now literally begging Gordon to let him suck him off. He hardly gives a fuck though. He has one bare hand and one gloved hand on either one of Gordon's hips, ready to pull him back in as soon as he gets the go-ahead.

—

Gordon doesn’t comment further on the foot thing but decides for himself what he’s going to do with that information. The look on Benrey’s face suggests that he might in fact come in his pants if teased any further, so Gordon has both of his feet planted firmly on the tile now, denying him any further friction. 

He gets a little lost in that expression in a moment. Unfocused, pleading without saying much. Gordon notices the hazy, slightly vacant look in Benrey’s eyes and suddenly realizes what he’s done. He’s also immediately forced to consider how he’s going to properly bring him back to the present with the time limits in mind. He finds that hardly possible. 

And then Benrey is _asking_ for it, and Gordon has to suck in a breath to keep his head straight. He can’t lose his nerve again, has to be responsible despite his inexperience. He nods. 

“Yes,” he says, tone wavering somewhat, “Yes, you’ve been doing so well for me so far.” 

His left palm slides into Benrey’s sweaty locks as he guides himself with his right, pressing against Benrey’s mouth and pushing back in. He tangles both hands into the man’s hair and presses his hips forward, mindful of his actions but adamant about what he wants.

“Shit,” Gordon breathes, pulling Benrey closer until he can feel the man’s nose press against his skin, “Oh _fuck…_ ” He releases his pull but keeps his hands there, allowing Benrey to slide off if he has to, caressing his hair in what he hopes is a comforting and encouraging manner. Gordon’s mask is way too hot for his liking at this point, it almost feels as bad as when Benrey was shooting fire way too close to his body for it to be safe. So he swears under his breath and pauses his ministrations to reach up, undoing the fastenings. He takes a deep breath as he pulls it off, wiping his face with his sleeve quickly before setting it aside. Gordon feels kind of naked now, face flushed, eyes glazed over as bad as Benrey’s, not looking far better than him overall, clearly undone by what Benrey’s mouth has been doing this whole time. 

And Gordon feels like he won’t last long either, so he puts his hands back where they belong, gripping Benrey’s scalp lightly as he thrusts forward, helping him set the pace he needs all the while keeping eye contact, or at least watching him work.

—

Gordon’s praise has Benrey’s heart skipping a beat. _Yes, he’s being good._ He feels a sense of deep satisfaction hearing that, accompanied by the desire to keep being good, keep making Gordon feel good. So he readily acquiesces to the urging of Gordon’s hands.

Gordon’s cock slides back into his mouth smooth and easy like it was always meant to be there. Two pieces of equipment specifically created to complement one another. He breathes carefully until he can’t, all the way down to the hilt until he’s pressed into Gordon’s stomach, mouth completely full. He swallows, throat constricting around the head of Gordon’s cock. He gags a bit and hates that his reflexes make him pull away. Stupid human form and it’s weird weaknesses.

He pulls off just enough to breathe, wanting to do that again. He does it again, holding Gordon in his throat’s grip for a little longer this time. He’s a little disappointed he’s not getting anymore shoe action, but if that’s what Gordon wants, it’s fine with him. The hands back in his hair are an acceptable tradeoff. His scalp tingles with each shift of Gordon’s fingers, sending the most delicious chills down his spine.

But then that is gone too. Benrey looks up, neglecting his duties while he watches with fascination as Gordon takes off his mask. He’s stopped breathing for a whole different reason now as Gordon lets Benrey see him. He looks so good, so affected. The expressionless mask was hot, but this is the real feedback Benrey wants, proof that he’s taking Gordon apart with each bob of his head, lick of his tongue, and suck of his lips. 

“Mmmf,” Benrey groans around Gordon, then hums as Gordon pushes into him, matching the pace he sets. He presses in as far as he can each time, cursing his nose for impeding his progress, not letting him get Gordon even deeper into him. He quickly figures out a breathing rhythm to match the rhythm of movement Gordon demands. He repeats the swallowing move whenever he can, whenever it won’t mess up the tempo. He wants to be as in sync with Gordon as possible.

His bare right hand is still on Gordon’s hip, thumb pressing into this hipbone, fingers clutching what he can of his ass. The other arm is wrapped possessively around his upper leg, gloved hand splayed over his inner thigh. Normally he finds it difficult to maintain eye contact with people, especially Gordon. But now he doesn’t want to stop staring at him, hungry for what’s been hidden from him this whole time. He hopes Gordon comes soon. He could do this forever, but he really wants it, to taste him, to have Gordon mark and claim his insides.

—

Gordon bucks, looking for the rhythm, getting faster until he's essentially fucking Benrey's throat. The sounds of the man gagging make Gordon feel a little sadistic, loving the way his throat constricts around him, how he struggles to control his breathing, to be good for him. He dares to look down at Benrey for as long as possible until he can't anymore. Gordon's breaths keep getting louder, heavier, more labored as the two of them move in near-perfect sync.

Eventually, he can't keep standing like that, legs getting tired, uncomfortable, and distracting him from the feeling he's been chasing for the past few minutes. So Gordon has to make sacrifices, has to let go of Benrey's hair with one hand to prop himself heavily against the kitchen island, nearly lying down on it. His mouth hangs open, brows furrowed, and sweat running down his face as he continues pressing Benrey's head forward, nearly choking him every time. 

"That's it…" Gordon mutters, eyes squeezing shut as he melts further down the island, then quietly, breathless, "…gonna cum…"

It takes just a few more movements on Benrey's part before Gordon's breathing cuts short and he's pressing Benrey's face flush to his groin. Then he’s panting hard, letting deep groans fall unbidden as he comes on his tongue and down his throat. The orgasm is so deeply satisfying that he feels like his bones are about to melt, the itch he didn't know he had thoroughly scratched.⠀

Gordon slides out when he has nothing more to give, feeling stupid and lightheaded for a moment as he looks down at Benrey with liquid running down his chin and white stains on his lips. Gordon reaches blindly for a napkin, finds one, and bends down, wiping the mess of spit and cum off Benrey’s face. Then he leans further in to the side, bites Benrey’s ear, and finds his voice. 

"You're allowed to take my shoe off," he rasps, voice coming out broken after the orgasm, "and do whatever you want with my foot. Lick it, rub your dick on it, I don't care what you do as long as you don't cum. Understand?" 

By Gordon’s calculations, they have about 10 minutes until the drill is done, maybe a bit less, then around the same time until a new wave of cops arrives. They can’t really stay for so long, but he’s sure he’ll be able to get Benrey off before they have to run for their lives. Not much else, unfortunately.

—

Benrey moves with Gordon as he leans back on the counter, hunching over him, supporting one of his legs, trying not to interrupt the flow of things. He tries to watch Gordon as much as he can without fucking up the blowjob, catching glimpses of his expression. It’s so fucking good, more sensory data he wishes he could record and keep forever.

He likes this very much, seeing Gordon laid out on the kitchen island like a gourmet dish. Flushed, demanding, lost to everything but the selfish pursuit of his orgasm. It’s a rare delicacy that Benrey has the utmost privilege to sample. Full points for plating and presentation.

Dinner is served. Benrey presses himself up against Gordon. Breathing is secondary. Top priority is letting Gordon jam himself as far down Benrey’s throat as possible, letting him feel all of Benrey’s mouth, lips, and tongue as he milks him, taking everything he can. He swallows the bitter flavor, savoring it. An acquired taste to be sure, but Benrey is an adventurous diner. With the sound of Gordon’s moans, the feel of his trembling, the smell of sweat, the taste of semen, the sight of him undone, it’s truly a feast for all the senses.

Benrey is still gently lapping at Gordon’s softening flesh when Gordon pulls out, and Benrey takes a deep breath, drinking in Gordon’s relaxed, post-orgasm face. _Now what? What next?_ he wonders, feeling hazy and a bit lost now that he’s achieved his goal. He shuts his eyes as Gordon wipes at his face, biting his tongue so he doesn’t say aloud that he’d gladly suck the jizz out of the napkin if Gordon wanted him to.

He shudders in surprise at the bite on his ear, and his neglected cock gives a powerful throb. He blinks his eyes open, staring at Gordon in wonder. He nods after a second. “Uhhh...c-cool. Yeah…” His gaze drifts down to Gordon’s foot. He’s dimly aware of the time issue, and how there isn’t nearly enough to do everything he wants. God, he hopes they both don’t die. 

He works as quickly as he can without ripping Gordon’s left shoe or foot off, pulling the laces part and sliding it off. He sets it aside and grasps Gordon’s heel, rubbing it gently as he lifts it to his mouth. He kisses the arch of Gordon’s foot and reaches for the cuff of Gordon’s dress sock before stopping himself and looking back up at Gordon.

“Um… Sock? Off? On?” he asks, clumsily undoing his own fly finally, shoving his pants and underwear free with a lot less care than he used with Gordon’s shoe. This is a fucking dream come true. He doesn’t want to fuck it up by accidentally disobeying Gordon.

—

Gordon lays down bodily on the surface of the kitchen island, basking in the afterglow. He’s aware of Benrey carefully undoing his laces and taking his shoe off, but tunes it out, for now, mind sluggish and not quite clear yet. Then there’s a press of fingers to his heel, lips to the sole, and Gordon involuntarily stirs, just in time to hear Benrey’s question. He props himself up on the elbows again, watches the man who has one hand on his ankle, and the other busy undoing his pants and showing them down together with his underwear. 

Oh. Dick to his foot it probably is. Gordon feels his face flush in embarrassment. Benrey’s got his fingers on the band of his sock, so it’s pretty obvious which way he wants this to go.

“Off… off is alright,” Gordon says sheepishly. He’s glad he’s put a fresh pair of socks on today and that his feet aren’t particularly smelly. That would be even more embarrassing than just having a dude rub his (very nice, he has to admit) dick on one of them.

Gordon sits up, curious about what Benrey is going to do. Yes, he has a good idea, but what if it’s a wrong idea? What if he… likes it? He flushes even deeper. Has never been against foot stuff in particular. Nothing he has done before though, but there’s a first for everything, right? Just like there’s a first for letting a guy who tried to murder you suck you off so well your brain short-circuits and powers off for a couple of minutes.

Gordon takes a deep breath to ground himself, fighting off the new feelings of embarrassment and excitement, and speaks, “If you get close,” he says, looking Benrey in the eyes even if it’s hard at the moment, “I want you to stop and tell me.” He licks his lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry at the imagery that fills his mind. He’s glad it’s too early for him to get hard again. “If you cum anywhere near my feet, I won’t let you do any of this again.”

—

Benrey nods, and carefully peels Gordon’s sock off. He makes sure not to turn it inside out so Gordon doesn’t have to turn it back when he puts it on. He puts the sock in Gordon’s shoe and nudges them both away as he sits up and moves closer on his knee, trying to make this as convenient for Gordon as possible. If he’s not into doing foot stuff, Benrey doesn’t want him to have to exert any effort.

He takes Gordon’s foot in both hands now, thumbs digging into the muscles, moving from the heel, up the arch to the ball. He reminds himself again that they don’t have a lot of time. Have to skip the foreplay. He leans in and licks a wide stripe up the bottom of Gordon’s foot, paying extra attention to the underside of the arch, swirling his tongue around and getting the skin nice and wet. 

He looks up at Gordon when he speaks again, giving him a few more rules. Benrey nods. Rules are good. Helps him focus, not just go hog wild with possibilities. _How near?_ he wants to ask. _What’s the minimum distance in your feet’s restraining order on my cum?_ Instead, he says “Okay.” and nods again, licking his lips.

Benrey shifts to plant one of his own feet flat on the floor in front of him, kneeling on one knee. It sort of looks like he’s proposing to Gordon’s foot. But now it’s the wedding night. He lowers Gordon’s foot and plants it flat against his cock, squishing it up against his stomach. He bites his lip at the pressure, pain, and pleasure. The bottom of the shoe through his pants was good. But this is fantastic. Warm and soft and wet and wonderful.

He twists Gordon’s foot to the side just slightly, fitting his shaft into the curve of Gordon’s arch. “Ungh...ffff,” he grunts softly as he holds Gordon against him, thrusting into the space created by the shape of his foot. His fingers slide over the top of his foot, feeling the long, elegant metatarsal bones that lie just below the skin. He enjoys fucking this foot. Too much in fact. He feels the heat build, spread from his cock into his stomach, climbing up his spine. He could keep going. Just fucking let loose all over Gordon’s toes. He wants to. So badly.

“I’m uh… “ he huffs, a little embarrassed at how little time has gone by. “Close. Stopping now.” But really, he’s been hard for ages, sucking Gordon off and thinking about him and looking at him and tasting him. How could he not be close? He rests Gordon’s foot on his thigh, trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm, and awaits further instruction.

—

Gordon watches Benrey, hyper-aware of everything he’s doing. He’s a little ticklish, so when Benrey traces the skin of his foot with his fingers, Gordon has to stifle a sound. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel right now. Does he lean into it? Does Benrey want him to do anything? What does he like about this in the first place? What would make it better for him?

The questions are immediately lost to the void when Benrey brings his foot to his face. Gordon’s mouth hangs open slightly, a soft moan escaping before he can close it. He can feel his ears burn, not used to having that part of him viewed or touched, much less _licked_. It’s a lot at once, but it feels nice, he suddenly realizes it’s a sensitive part of him too, bites his lip to stop any more embarrassing sounds from escaping. His calf shakes slightly as Benrey continues, both tickling him and making him feel _weirdly_ nice.

Then he’s being maneuvered. Gordon stands firm on one foot again while Benrey brings the other one down to… yeah. That’s Benrey’s cock alright, right up against him. His foot. On Benrey’s dick right now. Gordon looks up quickly but whips his head right back down when Benrey thrusts, huffing in what is probably a mix of pain and pleasure. Gordon watches his face, his movements, the place where the head of Benrey’s dick peeks out from behind the arch of his sole with every thrust. 

Oh. Oh _no_. Gordon _likes_ it. He still doesn’t see the appeal of feet themselves, but what he certainly sees is Benrey losing his fucking mind over having Gordon’s foot on his dick. He presses down gently, feeling the hot line of him against his arch, and once again imagines giving him a proper footjob. If this little snack undoes Benrey this much, what would a full course meal do to him?

There’s so much power in this, Gordon thinks. He could do anything to Benrey if he as much as slipped out of his shoes in front of him. Could have him under his heel, both literally and figuratively, does in fact have him right now. He can bet Benrey would do anything to get more of this, has a good idea to test that hypothesis.

And then Benrey is undone, way too quickly. Gordon can’t blame him though, he’s been pent up for a while, and Gordon has gone and given him not just one but two things he’s probably been fantasizing about for ages. He’s way too nice for his own good and is about to get even nicer.

Gordon sinks down to Benrey’s level, presses lightly on his shoulders to make him lean back, and rolls his sleeve up, slipping his glove off. He looks Benrey in the eye as he licks his own hand and moves it down, fingers wrapping around the man’s cock.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Gordon starts, hand moving upwards, hold tight around Benrey’s dick, “So obedient,” sliding down. The rhythm he sets isn’t meant to tease, they don’t have any time for that. He makes sure there’s nothing in the way of Benrey coming, leans slightly forward to speak into his ear.

“If you continue being good for me until we’re out of here, I’ll let you fuck both of my feet. If you’re good after we’re done heisting, I’ll let you come on them.” He has to pause speaking to banish the mental images. Can’t afford to get horny again, not right now. Gordon squeezes Benrey’s dick instead, going faster.

—

Benrey doesn’t know what to expect after he’s stopped. Maybe Gordon will tell him to zip back up, pick up his flamethrower, and get back to work. Benrey will do it. Maybe Gordon will let him rut against his foot again until he’s about to blow, make him stop again, over and over forever. Benrey will do it. 

Gordon keeps surprising him tonight, and he does it again by getting down on the floor with Benrey and pushing him back. Benrey falls into a slightly more comfortable position, nearly sitting down as Gordon wraps his hand around him. He’s backed away a bit from the edge of orgasm, but not much. He groans in pleasure, head lolling back, but then snapping forward again, not wanting to miss anything Gordon says or does.

He nods emphatically, brain on fire with Gordon’s words, Gordon’s hand tight around his cock, friction pulling him back to the brink in the most delicious way. The possibilities, the promises, the breath on his ear...

“Yes...fuck...yes I’ll be good. Good- for- you. Ah…” It’s so much. It’s too much. He’s going to lose it. He reaches under Gordon’s arm to clutch his shoulder from the back, forehead pressed into it from the front as his cock throbs, as he reaches the point of no return. 

“I’m...can I? Can I come?” He’s not sure if the rules from before still apply. Is he supposed to tell Gordon and stop again? The onus is on Gordon to actually stop though. All Benrey can do is warn him and ask permission. “I’m gonna come. Please, _pleasepleaseplease_. Let me come? Ah…Guh-Gordon....fuck!” His muscles all coil up tight, and then he’s releasing whether he wants to or not, moaning a low, euphoric sound into Gordon’s nice, tailored jacket.

His orgasm is mixed with a sense of dread that he fucked up, came without permission, though Gordon didn’t really have the chance to give it. He pulses into Gordon’s hand, a few spurts of cum shooting past his fingers and splattering onto Benrey’s tie. Intense, mixed feelings swirl inside him, too tangled to make sense of. “Sssorry,” he breathes, loosening his hold on the other man and looking up into Gordon’s face, ready to plead for mercy if he has to.

But his gaze drifts over Gordon’s shoulder to the lone SWAT cop standing in the doorway, seemingly stunned into silence and inaction by the scene before him: Two thoroughly disheveled, partially undressed men on the floor of the kitchen, one without a shoe and the other’s dick still in hand. Benrey fuzzily wonders how long he’s been there.

“H- hands up! On the...ground! Now!” the cop shouts after a beat. He seems equally out of sorts, gun still at his side.

—

Oh. That was… a lot faster than Gordon expected. As Benrey moans, he feels his cum, warm, slick, and sticky, cover his hand. He does his best to avoid getting it on anything but underestimates Benrey’s ability to make a mess and some of it ends up on his tie. Benrey is begging, slurring, apologizing, looking at him thoroughly wrecked and pleading when he has in fact done exactly what Gordon wanted of him.

Such submission does things to Gordon. He wants to keep rewarding Benrey for being so good and finds himself leaning in. He doesn’t make it further than halfway to his face though before hearing an unannounced third party speak.

Gordon flinches and immediately lets go of Benrey’s cock, turning his head around to look at the cop. He sees a really confused man who clearly shouted before he thought and who, as far as Gordon sees, isn’t ready to take any sort of action yet. And it’s _this_ one they missed when torching the entire division?

“Um…” Gordon starts, face coloring, voice a little weak. This _is_ an armed man after all, and he has totally just got caught with a hand on another man’s dick, cum dripping off his fingers. “So is it up…or on the ground?”

The question is asked merely to distract because Gordon keeps his hands exactly around his waistline where the holster of his own gun is hidden under his jacket. His right hand is gross and slimy, but he knows very well the man can’t see it as well as his left, so he reaches in as fast as he can and pulls his gun out.

The shot, surprisingly, doesn’t miss. He doesn’t get him as clean in the head as he hoped he would, but it connects with his temple nonetheless and the cop barely manages to get his own gun. Gordon takes a deep breath in, exhales, then another, repeats. “Stay here,” He tells Benrey and stands up, gun still in hand just in case, and approaches the man lying in the doorway. He nudges him with his shoe and then squats to check his gun. He’s lucky to find it’s one just like his and full of ammo, so Gordon takes the magazine and kicks the body out into the hall before closing the door again and locking it this time.

Then he’s back at Benrey’s side. Gordon picks some more napkins and kneels in front of Benrey, mindful of the cum puddle on the floor between the man’s legs. He actually slaps one of the napkins down there, then wipes his hand clean and reaches up to Benrey’s tie to try to get what the fabric hasn’t absorbed. His attempt doesn’t get him far, so instead Gordon zips his own pants up, cleans the mess off of Benrey’s softening dick, and puts it back into his underwear, zipping him up. He’s not sure why, but it feels nice to make him presentable again after what he’s done to him. Makes Gordon feel kind of… possessive, for some reason, hiding the results of his own work but knowing what’s been done. He smoothes Benrey’s hair back, fixing it as much as he can, not that it helps, Benrey still looks freshly fucked, probably just like him. Gordon finds himself wanting to just lie down on the floor for a while, spoon perhaps, and yet this is much as they have the time for.

“You should wash your tie, it’s gonna be less weird if they see it wet than covered in stains,” Gordon finally speaks after a long silence. He feels around for his shoe and sock, puts them on, then gets up and continues getting dressed.

—

Benrey stares blithely at the cop, cummed-out brain sluggishly thinking about his flamethrower, several yards away on another counter, empty. He’s still got his pistol on his thigh holster, but he’s in a much clearer view of the cop than Gordon, and he’s honestly forgotten he still has a gun on him. He slowly puts his hands into the air. Maybe he’s stuck in some kind of obedience mode, susceptible to any orders. 

Good thing Gordon is taking care of him, he thinks, as Gordon fixes the problem much more competently than Benrey would be able to at the moment. He feels another powerful surge of loyalty and adoration for him, though all he gets out of his mouth is a muted “Nice.” Benrey nods at Gordon’s instruction, lowering his hands as he sits on the floor, feeling extremely detached and wonderful at the same time. The sudden encounter with the rogue cop did very little to alter his state of mind. 

In no time at all Gordon is back and Benrey is glad to see him. “Thanks,” he mumbles, realizing he didn’t even have the presence of mind to put his own dick away. He’s again extremely grateful for Gordon looking after him, cleaning up whatever the post-orgasmic, highly submissive haze has Benrey overlooking. He closes his eyes at the hands moving through his hair and humming involuntarily. If only they could stay like this forever. 

“Okay,” he says, grabbing the edge of the island to haul himself off the floor, trying to pull his mind out of its soft, warm hole as well. He stands there a moment, dizziness threatening to plant him back on his ass. His knees are a little sore, and his jaw aches a bit. But he wouldn’t undo a single thing that just happened. Except maybe…

“Umm...did I...” He steps over to the sink, turns it on, and bends down to douse his tie in the flow of water. He honestly sucks at tying these things, so he’d rather not take it off. At Black Mesa, he’d tied it once and then just loosened or tightened it to pull it over his head every day. Benrey remembers he’d been in the middle of saying something before getting slightly hypnotized by the water coming out of the faucet.

“Did I fuck up? I mean… I...you didn’t say I could...uh... come. Sorry.” He should probably leave this be. He sounds so needy and a little pathetic. But he is, and he’s feeling rather raw and insecure. He wants to know if there’s still a chance they might do something like this again or if he blew it forever.

Benrey finishes rinsing his tie, squeezes the excess moisture out into the sink. It looks pretty fucked up when he’s done. No one would probably care if he just showed back up without a tie at all. He’s lost his mask and jacket as well. He could just stuff the tie into his pocket and no one would be the wiser. But he wants to keep it on. It had sort of started this whole thing after all. He’d like to be reminded of Gordon’s sudden control over him, the way he used that tie to plunge him into a whole new frame of mind. Especially if that was the only time they’re going to do something like that.

—

Gordon checks what he’s got in terms of ammo while Benrey takes care of his tie, satisfied to find that he’s no longer lacking in that department. He turns to him as he guard starts speaking but suddenly cuts out, just kind of standing there, bent over the sink. It takes Benrey a few moments, and the whole time Gordon stands glued to one spot, watching him, trying to understand what’s going through his mind. Then he’s speaking again and the tone isn’t something Gordon has ever heard from him before. He blinks.

There’s so much insecurity in Benrey’s voice it’s weird. Gordon must have really done something to him, put him in a state he’s not used to, neither of them is used to. He can’t call himself experienced in either being dominant, or, well, men, or all the emotional stuff that comes after experiences like these. He has to think quickly and act on intuition. Gordon approaches Benrey when he’s done rinsing his tie, eyes it critically, all wrinkly and loose. He reaches to fix it, smooth the fabric as much as he can in contrast to what he’s been doing with it previously, all the while looking up at Benrey’s face.

“You didn’t fuck up,” Gordon says with as much confidence as he can muster when not aroused. His face is red, his ears are burning. “You’ve done… really well. You did exactly what I wanted.” He finds himself licking his lips and looking away. Now that he’s not high with control and power, he feels rather insecure and embarrassed himself. He’s forced to admit he really liked what happened. All of it.

“Our conditions still stand,” Gordon’s hands let go of the wet but slightly more presentable tie and busy themselves sliding down Benrey’s dress shirt, smoothing it too. He really hopes his touch is grounding because he doesn’t know how much more he can offer in terms of aftercare in a situation like theirs, “If you’re good, if you don’t get under my feet,” he chuckles at the sudden irony of the phrase, “you can ask for more later on.”

Gordon’s eyes find Benrey’s again and he realizes he’s very, _very_ close to him. He’s also suddenly reminded of what he was meaning to do before the cop barged in on them. Gordon finds himself rising to his toes.

“ _Mr. Freeman, the drill is almost done! We-- we will go ahead into the vault and grab as much as we can if you don’t make it in time, but we kind of need you!_ ” Tommy’s voice cuts through the silence, making Gordon jump a good few feet away from the guard.

“ _Quit fucking around and get back here!_ ” Bubby’s joins in. The atmosphere is broken; Gordon is instantly reminded of what they’re supposed to be doing here.

“Yeah… yeah, we’ll join you in a few moments, just got done investigating,” Gordon says, sounding more nervous than he means to. He looks at Benrey and the connection cuts out.

“Gotta… gotta grab some of those canisters and run, huh,” he says, “Pretend as if nothing weird happened.”

—

Benrey’s breath catches as Gordon takes hold of his tie again. Fuck, anything near that whole area is just going to totally fuck him up from now on. His attention is once again fully on Gordon as he starts talking, just as a well-trained dog’s would be on its master after a jerk of the leash.

Benrey lets out a breath of relief and elation. He can’t help but smile a little. Who knew how good it felt to be told you were doing a good job? And while fucking things up and annoying Gordon is fun, it doesn’t give quite the same satisfaction that this does. Especially seeing how flushed Gordon is while saying it. It’s very cute, and Benrey wants to do anything he can to see all these interesting new sides of Gordon. Not just pissed off and terrified. 

“Got it. Uh…” he breathes out a laugh of his own, “No getting under your feet without um...permission.” Gordon’s soft touches continue to bring him back to reality in a way that getting caught by the police didn’t seem to. His brain slowly rights itself, he can think a little more clearly.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware of Gordon looking at him, and eye-contact is difficult again. Benrey licks his lips, holding his breath, trying not to get his hopes up and getting them all the way up anyway. He slouches down a little, not wanting to be presumptive but presuming anyway.

But they’re interrupted again and Benrey sighs, rolling his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. He hates that fucking drill. Takes too long when they need it to hurry up and can’t wait a few seconds more when he really needs it. He can pretend it counts because Gordon was probably intending to do it anyway. Guilty of Attempted Kissing. Maybe later. Maybe Benrey can ask for it. If he’s good.

He resigns himself to get back to this heisting bullshit and grabs his flamethrower. He goes over to the shelf of propane canisters and scoops up an armful.

“Sooo, I shouldn’t go over there and say ‘Hey uh, guess what me and Feetman were investigating? ‘Cause we definitely weren’t looking for supplies.’” Cum supplies, maybe. 

Benrey laughs as he hurries out of the room towards the vault and the rest of The Science Team. He’s starting to feel a bit like his old self, just with a few caveats. Hopefully, he can find the line where being a regular jerk crosses over into breaking the rules, and stay on the right side of it. He would dearly like to do some more “investigating” with Gordon.

—

Gordon’s eyes widen as he watches Benrey grab the canisters. He scowls (but it’s more for a show, really), grabs his mask, and rushes after him as the guard runs out.

“If you tell them what you did,” he screams, putting the mask on and nearly stumbling over some dead guy, “I _will_ file a restraining order! You will never see my fucking feet again, do you hear me?!”

It seems like they’re back to normal in a minute, Benrey being a little shit and Gordon being angry at everything he does. Except it’s different somehow because Benrey doesn’t _really_ make him angry. He’s mostly out of his way, he doesn’t even burn him _once_. Well, he does burn the money, but only after they’ve packed as much as they could, so Gordon’s complaints are superficial at best. To an onlooker, it would seem like they’re bickering as usual, but Gordon knows that Benrey is doing his best not to go over the honestly blurry line they’ve established. He can appreciate that. 

Later when they’re in the limousine with Tommy arrested but still on the line with them, he thinks back to the kitchen, to the weird new side he’s seen of Benrey, to the weird new side of himself that he only had fantasies of showing. He thinks about how there’s no way back for them after what they’ve done, and finds himself being strangely okay with it.

He’s in the back seat with Benrey. Coomer and Bubby are talking about something amongst themselves in the front. Probably about how they’re going to rob the White House and get Tommy back, and then do whatever the fuck they want and roll in the dough for a while. Gordon barely listens. He’s worried about Tommy of course and thinking about him, but judging by his voice, he seems alright so far, so Gordon finds himself leaning back and bumping his knee against Benrey’s. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him, just thinks what this means for them.

Well, it’s not like Gordon Freeman has never had a friend with benefits. This new one is just a weird annoying alien who tried to kill him. He’s sure he can handle it.


End file.
